On a Downward Spiral
by TiggerTigers
Summary: He'd always thought himself to be a normal, sane person. He liked his coffee black. He used unscented soap. He enjoyed reading in his free time. But he had some serious doubts about his sanity once a supposed time-travelling space pirate literally fell into his life, and that he [actually] believed she was... indeed... a time-travelling space pirate. (And, somehow, he didn't mind)
1. A Certain Supposed Space Pirate

I used to be on here a few years back under a different account name, during my dark middle school years. Here's my new start. This will be multi-chapter and will be updated on my own time. Hope you enjoy this short, first chapter thing. (And please be gentle)

Disclaimer: I will say this once. I do not own Fairy Tail or anything from it. Just my own plot lines.

-Sarah (6/6/16)

(Revamp: 6/21/16)

* * *

"God. Oh, what the hell."

His red eyes narrowed in confusion as a blonde girl popped out of his wardrobe, tripping and landing gracefully into a heap on his carpet. Her short white shorts and tight black tank top left little to the imagination. She wore brown over-the-knee boots with faded gray socks peaking out of the tops a bit. She also donned an old key on a chain around her neck. He pegged her to be about seventeen or so, maybe. It took another second of observation before he realized a key bit of information. _He had no idea who this girl was._

He watched with wide eyes from his desk, having been caught halfway through a spin in his wheeled desk chair. She uttered some more muffled curses under her breath ( _"I'm gonna' fucking- UGH!"_ ) as she picked herself up and dusted herself off. He watched as she scrunched up her face and looked around, giving his small apartment a once over before her chocolate orbs settled on him. She scanned his body from toe to head before she realization dawned on her face. She pointed at him and cocked her head, her mouth dropping open. He just stared right back at her, red meeting brown. It was his room anyway. They looked at each other for awhile before she cleared her throat.

"Uhhh..." She croaked, fidgeting with her necklace, the old key's ridges being traced by small, delicate fingers.

"Hello," he replied, waiting for more. The clock hung precariously on the far wall of his apartment ticked right on.

She walked towards him, slowly, and crouched down in front of him, never breaking eye contact. It was as if he wasn't a human, but some foreign being she was afraid would eat her alive. He felt a slight tinge of offense at her studious gaze. He watched her calmly as she reached out a small hand towards his face. Then he bristled, not used to nor comfortable with physical contact of any kind, much less from some stranger that must have broken into his room as some point. She retreated at his reaction. She was even more cautious now, and moved to stand. "Hey what year is it?"

"2014," he said, absently making a mental note that, yes, he _should_ be worried about this strange person. He watched her curiously as she looked upwards in thought, she pressed her lips together into a thin line before she looked at him again.

"M'kay, thanks… uhh…"

"Rogue."

"Thanks, Rogue."

With that, she turned around and vaulted through his open window and through the bushes. He was caught off guard for a second, then hurriedly rushed to his window, knocking his desk chair over in his scramble to his window.

"Hey!" He yelled. She was halfway across the parking lot of his apartment building. She whipped around to look at him.

"What?" She yelled back.

"So who are you, anyway?" He yelled. He had a million other questions too, better, more logical questions, such as 'Hey, how the fuck did you fit in my tiny wardrobe? 'or 'What the hell were you doing in my apartment?' or 'Should I call the cops?', among others.

She paused for a second before yelling back, a huge smile plastered on her face.

"I'm a time-travelling space pirate!"

For some reason, he _really_ doubted that.

He watched her cross the street, seemingly not noticing, or if she did, not caring about the oncoming traffic. He had a mini heart attack for his intruder as a truck passed with her still in the road. But then when it was gone, she was too. Simply vanished as if she was never there.

Okay maybe he doubted it a little less now.

He stood there for a solid five minutes before spurring himself to action. He calmly shut his window, closed his blinds, turned off his desk light, crawled in his bed, and made a quick recall of all food and narcotics he's taken in the last forty-eight hours. After concluding that nothing he's had recently could've been poisoned or hallucination-inducing, he pulled up the covers over his head. When he next awoke he'd chalk it up as a weird dream.

A _really_ fucking weird dream.

* * *

He knew he wasn't dreaming the second time, sadly. Mainly because when you're dreaming you don't feel pain. But his palms were scraped up and the impact of his rear on the pavement didn't feel too nice either. Groaning, he reached around himself, beginning to pick up his bag and books that fell out of it, along with his thermos that had broken and spilled his coffee on the ground. He cried a little inside as his liquid lifeline dripped into the cracks in the sidewalk.

It really wasn't his day.

He whipped his head up to look at whoever felt the need to stop so suddenly in the middle of the sidewalk and (inadvertently) spill his coffee.

His eyes trailed over golden locks trailing down past slender shoulders and - okay we won't mention those (although they were kind of in his face, but he still was a gentleman at heart) - to the black tank top and tall brown boots. Realization flitted across his features as he jerked his head up to meet big brown doe eyes.

He made a noise not unlike a strangled duck as he backed away a few paces. His eyes widened at his own reaction.

The buxom blonde stared at him like a dear in headlights, as if she hadn't expected that she'd actually knock him down. She shook it off rather quickly as she took in the damage.

"Sorry, Rogue!" She chirped, her eyes flickering momentarily towards his spilled coffee and broken thermos.

He didn't respond. He wasn't ready for his next meeting with the supposed space pirate. He didn't think he'd _ever_ be ready for it. Honestly he'd thought it was all some really fucked-up dream he'd had when it happened a few days prior. (Of course he hadn't _completely_ thought of it as a dream but he did try and try _hard_ to make it seem so in his mind. Well, that didn't work out so well.)

She thrust her hand out towards him, he stared at it for a second before taking it. She hauled him up with surprising strength for her size, which he noticed now that they were both standing, was at least a head under him. She made a quick effort to brush him off, then she blushed a bit as she realized their close proximity. Rogue gently pushed her away as he picked up the broken pieces of his thermos and chucked them into a nearby trash bin. "Yeah, I'm so sorry, Rogue. I can get you a new one."

He sighed a bit and brushed his hair out of his face. "It's okay. I wasn't paying attention. It was a cheap one I got from a giveaway anyway," It wasn't exactly that, as he'd gotten it from Sting who had gotten it from a girl who had stalked him for a couple months. Sting felt the need to get rid of all evidence of her in any way possible. (Rogue also had a few heart-shaped erasers and a homemade muffler. The rest was burned by Sting in a not-so-legal fire he had atop their apartment complex.)

She pouted, it was obvious she was thinking of ways to make it up for him anyway. He had a good feeling she was just that type of person though. After mulling it over in his head for a moment, he spoke, "You could make it up for me by walking to my next class with me?"

She perked up at that and quickly nodded her head, eager to make it up to him.

"Onwards! Captain Rogue!" She cheered as she grabbed his hand and stretched out her other arm, pointing in front of them as she dragged him in the direction he was heading previously.

He couldn't help but smile just a little bit at this weird new person he'd acquainted himself with.

* * *

He'd see her many times over the next couple weeks. Just brief glances, and all a little strange in their own ways. She tended to come and go at random.

During an afternoon lecture she had walked right across the lecture hall behind the teacher - in one door and out the other - but when he'd ask someone if they knew her afterwards they'd say they hadn't seen her at all.

She would be in a store's window looking at things inside as he walked past, but when he'd do a double take and look at her she'd be gone.

He'd seen her browsing books at the local library as he walked by the aisles. And again, when he's gone back to see her again it'd be as though she was never there.

 _Every time_ she appeared she'd disappear just as quickly. He'd thought about it long and hard one day on the way home and had come up with a few conclusions. One was that she absolutely loved playing games such as hide and seek and was playing one with him constantly and she'd never told him. Another was that she was always busy and had to do things quickly and he just had really bad timing. He briefly considered the idea that he had a personal stalker. Haha, _no._ A fourth was that maybe she hated him. He didn't like that one so much for some reason, so he quickly threw it out a mental window and watched it explode on impact.

Eventually he had decided to go with the most reasonable, likely option:

"She really _was_ a time-travelling space pirate."

He promptly smacked himself in the face, to the surprise of many others walking around him on the crowded sidewalk. Rogue was snapped out of his inner reverie as he watched them. ( _"Mummy, what's a space pirate?" "I don't know, Asuka. keep walking. Keep walking."_ ) _Damn, said it out loud._ As they scurried away from him he sighed.

 _Shit, I'm going crazy._

* * *

Rogue groaned as he heaved his face off of his desk where he had fallen asleep. He scratched at the keyboard imprint that he just knew was on his face as he took a fleeting glance at the clock that hung on the far wall of his apartment. It was about three AM, so he'd been asleep for about five hours. He ruffled his hair as he hoisted himself out of his chair and into his kitchenette. A quick search in his cupboard and he produced a bowl and a mug. He rustled through his drawers and got out coffee grounds and a spoon. As he continued to make a balanced breakfast of coffee and corn flakes he checked his phone.

His lips formed a thin line as he turned on the screen to reveal nine missed messages. One of them was from his chemistry partner, who texted to tell him that they'd meet up tomorrow at their place to finish their lab report. He typed a quick reply and moved himself towards his old couch situated in front of his cold fireplace. As he ate his cereal (he'd poured some of his coffee in there with it) he reluctantly checked the rest of the messages.

 **From: McDick (10:14 PM)**

 _ROgueeeee! Sweethearttttt!11 Call mee!_

 **From: McDick (10:16 PM)**

 _Roguee! . Plz! i got something 2 tell u_

 **From: McDick (10:25 PM)**

 _U in the showr?_

 **From: McDick (10:26 PM)**

 _Did u get a boyfrnd in my absnse? bby?_

 **From: McDick (10:26 PM)**

 _Dont leave meeeeee Rogeyyyy illdieiswearyouasshole ToT_

 **From: McDick (11:48 PM)**

 _Rogue_

 **From: McDick (12:04 AM)**

 _O cum on rogueeeeee plehzzz. i wnt evr spit in ur coffee again i swr_

 **From: McDick (12:07 AM)**

 _or steal ur toothbrush._

Rogue's fingers couldn't dial the blonde's number fast enough. He was completely ready to tear him a whole new one. He could hear him shuffling on the other line, along with a faint - distinctly feminine - moan. Rogue tapped his foot in annoyance, having a fairly good idea what Sting was doing right now, and it _wasn't_ sleeping.

 _"Ooo- yeah I'll be right back, Yukino. Wait just a second - Rogue?"_ Thumps were heard as Sting left what was likely the woman's bedroom in favor of somewhere more private. _"Awwwweee did you miss me, sweetheart?"_ Sting 's voice practically sang his name, and it royally pissed him off.

"I thought you were completing a residency period, not seeking residence in a woman's bed, Sting." Venom coated Rogue's words, but he had a feeling it was lost on Sting's ears.

 _"Would you believe me if I said she was a patient?"_ Rogue's silence answered his question. _"Guess not."_

"Yeah, fuck no." Rogue growled.

Sting's sigh carried heavily over the receiver. _"Is this about the toothbrush?"_

He'd kill him. "We'll talk about that later, Sting. What the fuck did you want to tell me so badly?"

A pause on Sting's end told Rogue he'd completely forgotten that that's why his friend called him.

 _"I'm coming home in a couple weeks! I'll be home on the twelfth of October. I know you must have missed the great Sting Eucliffe, your partner in crime and favorite slash only friend,"_ Sting's satisfaction and obvious whole-hearted belief in his words reminded Rogue just how much Sting got under his skin. In all his years, Rogue had never found someone so perfectly wrong in his life. But he was too far gone now to get rid of Sting, as once Rogue had him there was no way Sting would leave. Rogue likened the blonde to a bad case of herpes.

"Well, great." Rogue deadpanned. "I'm so excited."

 _"Was that sarcasm I heard?"_

"Oh wow how could you tell?" It was practically dripping onto his wood floor.

 _"Just a really really good guess."_

"Sure." A pause.

 _"So did you really not miss me at all?"_ Sting's question was laced with a tinge of disappointment and sadness that Rogue, sadly, couldn't deny feeling bad about causing. (Even if Sting _was_ a massive dick and his actions did _nothing_ to help that fact.) Even if Sting was annoying as fuck, Rogue had missed his good friend. He filled his empty apartment with life and was always nearby in case Rogue got bored or, he wouldn't admit, lonely. He'd never told Sting, but he was sure Sting was aware of Rogue's reluctant acceptance of his friendship. Sting acted like a dumbass, but he almost always knew what was going on.

Rogue sighed and admitted, "I do miss you, Sting. Even if you're a moody little prick."  
That was the best Sting was gonna' get and they both knew it. Sting, satisfied, went on to ruin it.

 _"Wanna' get married, Rogue?"_

"Ah- FUCK NO, STING!"

Sting's roar of laughter was cut short as Rogue hung up.

He swore there was something severely wrong with his friend. Rogue picked himself up and dropped his dishes in the sink before sparing another glance at the clock. It was nearing four AM and Rogue decided that he was tired enough from dealing with Sting that he'd get a decent amount of sleep before he had to wake up. He shuffled over to his bed and had gotten all comfy cozy when he heard his phone buzz from where he'd placed it on his bedside table. He lazily felt around in the dark for it and switched it on. He took one look at the message before he chucked his phone across the room. In the morning he'd find it to be in a potted plant beside the fireplace.

Rogue swore he'd kill that gay-ass motherfucker next chance he got. He'd unleash a whole new hell on the unsuspecting blonde.

 **From: McDick (3:58 AM)**

 _BTdubs i lied bout the toothbrush and spitting in ur coffee. it worked doe! ;) ;) ;) Luv uuuuuuuuuuuuuu, see u in two weeks rogue_

* * *

A/N: Sting is bi. Rogue is straight.


	2. The Infamous

I should be studying for finals. I really don't have much to worry about with my grades but I still _should_ be studying...

(Key word: should)

Oh well. :P

Thank you for the kind reviews so far. Getting a couple positive comments so quick really made me happy and want to work on this ASAP. I hope you enjoy.

-Sarah (6/7/2016)

(REVAMP:6/21/16)

* * *

T minus eleven days until 'The Great Sting Eucliffe' will return.

 _Just great_.

Rogue made a calendar reminder on his phone as he walked in the door to his apartment building. Two reminders, actually. One saying when Sting would arrive, and another set a couple days before so Rogue could booby trap Sting's room across the hall. Rogue had a long history of things he'd done to Sting when said blonde was being a jackass. It had things such as making food for him with copious amounts of hot sauce (which Sting was unaware of), to the classic water cup catastrophe wherein dozens upon dozens of plastic cups were laid out in key locations, to simple jabs to his ribs. It was a balance of power sort of thing. Sting pissed off Rogue (usually on purpose) and Rogue got revenge and the cycle would repeat itself. There would be complaints on both parties throughout the process but it all evened out in the end. It was a vicious, although somewhat welcome, cycle.

"Hey- HEY! Rogue!?"

Rogue had a feeling his friendship with the blonde was what made him so immune to strange occurrences, which was why, when Rogue walked in on a certain space pirate reading (one of his books) on [his] bed, her feet kicking casually in the air as though it was all hers, he simply took a sip of his coffee (in his new thermos) and pushed her onto the floor so he could take a much-needed nap.

"My bed." He stated simply. She scowled at him from her spot on his rug, he just brushed her off as he sunk into the familiar embrace of his down comforter. He watched her get up and brush herself off in a huff. He couldn't prevent the small chuckle from escaping his lips. She whipped around and fixed him a death glare. Rogue just laughed into his pillow. The space pirate was really so much like Sting in her responses to him that he simply couldn't help himself. After a few moments he removed himself from his pillow. He watched her sit in his desk chair and spin slowly in it, book open again in front of her face.

"Why'd you pick that one?" He asked. She had _Stuff_ in her hands, a book about compulsive hoarding that he'd received from Sting as a joke after Sting discovered the absolute mess that was Rogue's back closet. Sting swore he had to have at _least_ three globes, eight dozen Tupperware bins of crap, a few rotting corpses, and a gate to fucking Narnia back there. Rogue denied all accusations immediately, but he couldn't deny he had a problem in that room. Over the past year his neat little storage closet had become a landfill of just absolute **shit**. Rogue was a neat guy, the rest of his apartment clearly showed that, but he was always a sucker for keeping small things he'd found meaning in at some point. Slowly those bits of memorabilia took over the room, and now a piece of cardstock with the words 'DO NOT OPEN' was taped to the door (and likely would stay there forever).

Now he'd tried to read the book, but whenever he picked it up, Sting's taunts echoed in the back of his head that 'he had a problem and was trying to fix it', and it royally pissed him off and he found himself shoving it roughly back into his bookshelf every time. He was glad _someone_ was reading it, though.

"I happen to like these sorts of things!" The blonde said in slight defense. "Or... at least I'm pretty sure of it." She muttered the last part under her breath, but Rogue had always had exceptional hearing.

"Hmm?"

She blanched briefly before returning to normal. "Nothing!" She chirped. He didn't peg her as the type to keep secrets, but he let it drop as it really was none of his business anyway.

He moved on. "You can have that if you want. I don't really ever look at it anyway."

"No," she said resolutely. "I don't need it."

Rogue could see she was contemplating his offer, though. He pushed it, "It's okay, really. Just take it." He made a sweeping gesture at her to keep it. She thought for a second, then gave in. "Thanks, Rogue." She smiled. He liked how it looked on her.

He saluted. "Aye, Capt'n."

Her laughter filled the otherwise silent apartment.

* * *

When he woke up the next morning (late, cuz' it was Saturday and he really couldn't be bothered to do anything like wake up early), he saw a head of blonde in his kitchen. He heard the feminine tack tack tack of heeled boots on his tile as she bounded around the small space. He stared at her for a few moments before she turned and saw his watchful gaze.

"Hey!" She sang as she turned to his stove to flip what looked like a sandwich. His nose took in the scent of tomato soup.

"Soup for breakfast?" He asked, he was a stickler for tradition, anyways.

She waved her spatula at his clock hanging off the wall. "It's not breakfast time anymore, Rogue."

"I see." He stated. His clock indeed read 12:09. He gently chastised himself for waking up so late. He got up slowly and made his way over to her side in the kitchen.

"Soooo do we still consider that a sandwich?" His red eyes widened slightly at the charred mass that lay in the pan. She made a high pitched squeak as she quickly turned off the fire and transferred it to a plate. They looked at the sad little thing in silence.

"Shit.. let's try that again," She piped as she prepared another couple slices of bread and some cheese. He took the spatula from her.

" _I'll_ do it." It wasn't an offer, it was a statement. Rogue got to work scraping blackened cheese off of the pan before getting to work.

"So how'd you manage to make a brick out of a sandwich?" Rogue asked, honestly dumbfounded at how she managed to do so. The girl just shrugged.

"It just... happened. It was like it was common for me to do it. Like I'd done it before," she answered. She stared down at her toes and played with the tops of her long socks.

"Well have you? Sounds like you don't know you have?" At her continued silence, Rogue looked up. Her brows were knitted together intensely. He wondered why his question garnered that sort of response, or lack thereof. He brushed it off and moved on.

"So _do_ you want a cheese brick for lunch?" He asked, returning to his task at hand. The bread was turning a lovely golden brown.

She laughed. "No, I'm not so much into that." She seemed grateful at the change in topic.

Ten minutes later they were sipping soup and watching a shitty reality TV show on Rogue's outdated set perched on top of his fireplace's mantle. Rogue had been thinking about this for awhile though.

"Why are you here?"

"Well Rogue, when two people love each other very much-"

Rogue let out a panicked squawk and nearly dropped his soup as he spun to meet her eyes. "Not like that!"

She burst out laughing at his slowly reddening cheeks.

"I mean, like, why are you here? In my house?"

She shrugged. "I like it."

He glared at her, she grinned. "That won't cut it."

She put her finger to her chin in mock thought. "Hmmm..."

"Maybe I like you?" She joked before turning back to her soup, swirling it with her spoon.

Rogue's cheeks turned a similar shade of red as his eyes. He groaned in frustration.

"Okay. Fine. Fuck it," he threw his hands up in mock surrender. She smiled into her bowl."Can you at least tell me your name? 'Space pirate' doesn't roll well off the tongue."

The blonde turned her head towards him and smiled softly. "Lucy. My name's Lucy."

"...that's better."

* * *

He couldn't fucking believe it.

The infamous partyman, the so-called 'god of lightning', the number one on his list of unreliable people (okay maybe he tied with Sting), actually did their part of the work. Rogue had been shocked a few days before when Orga Nanagear texted him asking to meet up to discuss their project, so when he came in the dorm room he was wary of it being a prank or something. But what really shocked him was that Orga was seated at his small desk (he dwarfed it in size) with his long green hair pulled back into a ponytail and a pair of glasses perched on his nose, he was completely ready to work.

When he'd been assigned to work with the man a couple weeks back he was crushed. This project was worth a great deal of points and each pair was graded as a team, not individually. He'd been hoping to get Laki or Levy or, hell, even the metalface Gajeel over Orga Nanagear, who was obviously nursing a nasty hangover that day. To be fair, he didn't know much about the other's academic life, but he had a pretty good guess at how hard he worked based on his reputation among the seedier characters in the college.

That day, he quickly selected a topic from the group of topics they were presented, split the work (with Rogue taking the more key elements of the work for himself), go Orga's number, and bid the man good day. He was _not_ going to deal with a grouchy hungover giant that day. After that, he had dutifully avoided Orga in hopes to ease his brain from the added stress the other man would likely bring him.

Now, as Orga came over and apologized for his lack of cooperation the day the assignment was given, as well as his understanding for not wanting to trust him, he felt very foolish.

"No. I'm sorry. I let rumors go to my head and didn't give you a chance," Rogue replied to the larger man's apology with a shameful shake of his head. Orga placed a large hand on his shoulder and shot him a smile.

"I do know my way around a keg, so those rumors weren't entirely false. It's okay. Work?"

Rogue sent him a small grin. "Sure."

They finished setting up the final report in record time, and Rogue left the dorm with a warm feeling in his chest, as Orga had turned out to be quite the conversationalist. He really wasn't the smartest, but he was sharp and tried his hardest to separate his nightlife from his school life. Rogue admired the man for that. He was walking by the post office and glanced up at the large clock face. He smiled inwardly as he realized he had a good while before his favorite coffee shop would close for the day. He changed his course to head to the very place.

* * *

"Hey, Rogue."

"Hello, space pirate," He replied before taking a sip from his mug.

He set his mug down to look at the blonde who he knew had sat down on the opposite side of the small table he always occupied when he was here. Lucy was dressed in her usual black top, white shorts, and tall boots. She twirled her key necklace on her finger. He absently wondered if she ever wore anything else.

"You know my name."

"Fine. Hello, Lucy," he said with a small wave for emphasis.

She smiled at him briefly before she peered in his cup. Dipping her head down, she sniffed it.

She retracted quickly and crinkled her nose at him. "Black?"

"It's refreshing," he replied, suppressing a chuckle as he reached for his drink again. He loved black coffee. "I'm not much of one for sweet things."

She watched him, her elbows on the table as she held up her head with her hands. He let a small smirk grace his face at the childish expression she wore.

"What, my drink?" She blew a raspberry at him.

"You're such an old man."

He jerked his head up at that. He'd heard that before from a certain other blonde who bothers him on a regular basis. For a moment he saw much of his friend in the girl in front of him. He cringed at what Sting would say if he knew what he was currently thinking. ("Seeing me everywhere, now? You really must be in love with me!")

His female friend flicked his face. She raised her eyebrow at him in question. He just shrugged. "You reminded me of a friend just then."

"Ah. Who was-" She cut off her own question. She looked down at the old key in her hands. He watched as she traced her fingers gently and slowly across the ridges and cracks in the time-weathered key. He realized she must do this as a nervous habit. Her eyes were blocked from his view by cascading golden locks. She slowly tilted her head back up at him with a look on her face that made Rogue want to hold her in her arms and comfort her. Her whole person screamed vulnerability. He maintained his distance, a tad uncomfortable with the situation, and simply watched as emotion swirled violently in her chocolate orbs. "Nevermind," she said softly. He frowned.

"I met him a couple years ago when I moved over here. He's lived here all his life, apparently. His name's Sting. He's kinda' hard to miss, you might know him."

"I don't," she answered quickly. A pained look flitted across her features for a second. It disappeared as quick as it came.

"Lu-"

"I don't know him," she repeated, although seemingly more to herself than to him. She gripped the table, her knuckles slowly turning white. He was about to reach out to her when the shriek of shattered glass rang through the shop. He whipped his head around to see an employee staring at a pile of glass shards on the wooden floor. She had small cuts on her hands and one on her face. Blood slowly seeped out of them. Another employee came to her aid, as well as a couple other patrons of the store. They made sure she was okay and helped clean up the mess. The second employee took her by the shoulders and slowly walked her towards the employee-only area. Rogue could faintly hear mutterings of _'I-I don't know what happened'_ and _'They just... broke.'_ as they went away. He turned back to Lucy.

She was gone.

He looked around, seeing no space pirate anywhere in sight.

* * *

Rogue was thoroughly annoyed. He was about a month and a half into the new term, and with deadlines beginning to add up he was working his brain overtime into the early hours of the morning nearly every night to stay caught up. He had had the most incredible streak of bad luck as of late.

His calculus teacher, Mrs. Mirajane Geer, had gone on maternity leave. Somehow, even when Professor Lohr taught about _six_ different classes of the subject, Rogue had managed to get the new, utterly brutal Miss Orland as his substitute professor for what was arguably going to be the toughest class of his college career (since he was utterly hopeless at advanced mathematics). After about a week he'd realized he must have killed at least a dozen people in his past life, because otherwise there was no way in hell he deserved this.

Summer had also disappeared entirely just that Monday, and with it took Rogue's chances at finding any amount of comfort when outside for the next few months. (He absolutely hated the cold, despised it to his very core.)

Aside from that, his favorite coffee shop had closed for remodeling just the day before. A sign saying _'Sorry for the inconvenience, but we'll be closed for at least a month for remodels.'_ hung on the door. Rogue swore he heard a crack rip its way along his heart at the sight of it.

A mysterious space pirate was really the cherry on top of a shitty, rotten week, as she had disappeared altogether for awhile since the coffee shop incident. Rogue didn't want to admit it, but he missed her (even though she had a nasty habit of breaking and entering and was fickle and really really confusing sometimes). He hated to admit it, but he was pretty much a loner, aside from Sting (who was gone) and Orga (who proved to be pleasant when sober, but when _was_ he sober).

The buxom blonde had wormed her way easily into his daily life through her regular appearances at his house or lectures or just wherever. He enjoyed it, although he'd never admit it out loud. But she had all but disappeared, and Rogue wanted to rip his hair out.

He was sitting with his laptop on his bed, trying to think of anything but the girl and the weather and his coffee withdrawal when a whole new set of problems appeared in his doorway.

"Miss me, sweetheart?" _Oh._ Rogue had forgotten he was coming.

Rogue groaned loudly, his single visible red eye narrowing slightly at the blonde who'd walked into his small apartment and plopped themself into his desk chair across the room.

No, not _that_ blonde. The other one. The one who, rather than constantly disappearing from his view, tried their hardest to block it with their (obnoxious) face at all possible moments. Oh yes, Sting Eucliffe was nothing like Rogue's mysterious space pirate. He honestly wished the guy would take a little more from Lucy's ways, even though Sting had never met the buxom blonde. (And Rogue was pretty sure of that, as Sting would've wasted no time in mentioning the woman's generous... _assets_... to his friend. Unlike Rogue, Sting wasn't shy from peeking (...staring) at women. Not by a long shot. )

" _Hell_ no, stop calling me that, you gay fucker," Rogue blew his bangs out of his face, absently taking a little mental note to get his hair cut sometime soon.

"You do know I _am_ a gay fucker, right? _("oh shut the fuck up, Sting")_ Except not now, _I'm_ in a committed relationship," Sting boasted as he took a quick spin in Rogue's desk chair, nearly knocking it over in the process.

Rogue groaned again. He rolled over in his bed and put his laptop on the floor and rolled back in. Sting toyed with Rogue's little box on his desk that held his collection of paperclips, thumbtacks, and other small, miscellaneous items, almost dumping it on the floor as he took a second rotation in the chair.

"Miss me?" Sting asked distractedly, focusing more on the paperclips than on Rogue's lack of answer. Sting already knew ROgue wouldn't answer that truthfully unless he was threatened.

Rogue peered at a tiny crack running along his ceiling. He wouldn't admit it, but he _had_ missed the loudmouth, who had just recently returned from half a year of post-graduate training off on the other side of the country.

When Rogue had moved here a couple years ago for college, he'd been almost one hundred percent sure that Sting Eucliffe was a guy with his head in the clouds and an over-inflated ego who had likely invested himself in a life filled with parties, alcohol, and a large harem of women.

So it came as a _massive_ shock when he found out the fact that he, of all people, was pursuing a career in behavioral therapy, and was actually very much invested in his selected line of study. (also he was bisexual, but on second thought, that didn't surprise Rogue. Sting was often positively _flaming._ )

After finding out that information Rogue learned to never _ever_ judge a book by its cover again, as it was kind of a painful realization that at that point Sting had his life pretty much figured out while Rogue had just finally discovered, after going a year and a half elsewhere as an undecided major, that he was a pretty good listener and problem solver and would enjoy a career as a psychiatrist. (That's why he'd moved colleges, as Sabertooth University was renowned for their therapy, psychology, and psychiatry programs. Oh boy, did Sting flip when Rogue decided to tell him that. ( _"You?... really? With your resting_ 'I'm-gonna'-fucking-murder-your-ass' _face?" "Sting, there's a reason I make that face around you."_ )

Rogue faintly heard a sound through his inner reverie. It was the sound of a few dozen small items falling onto his desk and floor.

" _Shit!_ "

"Clean it up."

"Agh, fine.. So how's life for you?" Rogue wasted no time in unloading all his problems to his friend, although he left out the part about the space pirate for fear Sting would've thought he _actually_ went insane in his absence. _("I knew you loved me!" "Fuck you.")_

Rogue admittedly didn't know all too much about his best friend, in terms of how he grew up. Rogue had constantly heard rumors about what the blonde was like as a kid, ranging from that he was a famous town druggie who had known all the hotspots for shady activity, to where he was a model student who was at the top of his class and set school standards, to where he was a loner, or a hotshot, or a player, or an absolute **dick**. Rogue quickly learned not to listen to any rumors about Sting, as there were many and almost all of them were contradictory and just plain wrong. (Although he did believe the absolute dick one, as Sting had proved himself to be just that on many occasions.)

Through the years Rogue did pick up a few things. Sting was popular, but had little friends. Sting was surprisingly smart (when he felt like it) and also an absolute dumbass. Sting was both incredibly secretive and also simultaneously lacking inhibitions. Sting acted one way and thought another. Sting was a walking contradiction of himself, and somehow this incredibly strange person meshed well with Rogue, who seemed to be the last person who would willingly form a friendship with the walking disaster. Rogue enjoyed his company, even if he was reckless and careless and downright strange.

Maybe that was what made him so tolerant of the new blonde who had wedged herself into his life. As she was very similar to Sting in many aspects from the little time he'd had to actually talk to her so far. She was absolutely random and seemed to move around with no reason. She also seemed to have that natural charm that made people want to talk to her, a charm that Sting also possessed. He felt like he could talk to her like he talked to Sting.

Although a glaringly obvious difference was that Sting made it a habit to annoy Rogue seemingly on purpose whenever and wherever possible.

When happened to be now and where happened to be his room, which he liked to keep pristine and orderly. It certainly was not when he dragged himself out of his bed.

He shook his head for a second, sleepy eyes glancing at the clock on the wall. It read either 9:18 or about 4:45. He wasn't really awake enough to tell. He assumed that it was morning though, as Sting came late in the night and the sky outside was pitch black. Rogue rubbed his eyes as he looked around. Sting was nowhere in sight. _Ah, shit. Sorry, Sting._ He'd fallen asleep.

It was obvious that Sting had been there though, as his normally orderly room was a mess and Rogue certainly hadn't done it.

Sting had _not_ cleaned up his mess like Rogue had asked ( _demanded_ ) him to. Instead opting to leave a paperclip chain draped haphazardly all over his desk, some post-it paper planes thrown about the room (likely thrown at him as he slept), glitter - which he was sure he'd never owned - all over and in his laptop's keyboard on the floor, and _thumbtacks_ hidden in his carpet.

He found those with his feet, then decided he no longer cared that he fell asleep on his friend, and promptly vowed to plant the little fuckers all around Sting's apartment at the next possible chance.

Groaning, Rogue yanked the offending object out of his foot and stalked over to his desk to turn off his lamp, which Sting had also left on. Once the light was off, Rogue returned to his bed. He guessed he'd still apologize to Sting for falling asleep when he'd just returned from his trip _(and then he'd stab him)_. But for now, he was tired and bleeding and wanted nothing more than to just _sleep_.

He fell asleep almost immediately, his brain tired from the late night sessions with his laptop he'd been having pretty regularly lately.

He didn't get to see the figure of a certain blonde girl walking through the closed door of his closet, quickly looking to see if he was awake. He didn't see her huff at the mess in his room. He didn't see her pick up the paperclip chain and take it apart, returning its pieces to its box along with his thumbtacks. He didn't see her blow some of the glitter on his laptop out the window.

He hadn't seen the post it stuck to his desk. He didn't see her rip a chunk off and stuff it into her pocket. He didn't see her put a new one down.

He _certainly_ didn't feel her gently run her fingers through his hair.

Well, that's what _she_ thought.

She was, _of course_ , **wrong.**

He, _of course_ , thought it was a dream.

Until, upon waking up in the morning, he saw two post-its on his neat and tidy desk.

 _'Hey, sweethartttt- Thx 4 falling asleep on me u asshole. XOXO'_ Rogue cringed. It was in Sting's resolute chicken scratch.

The second post-it made him much happier than he should've been, and than he would ever admit. Written in an unfamiliar, feminine hand, it made him forget the stolen note she'd pocketed.

 _'Sorry- See you. -Lucy'_


	3. Return

**Hello... This is awkward. I could give a slew of excuses as to why I stopped posting but in all honestly it boils down to: I HAVE TERRIBLE TRASH PERSON HABITS. To those who were kind enough to care about this story and wait for an update, I am incredibly grateful for you, and I am also incredibly sorry. I won't make any more promises, but after reading over my story again I'm excited to continue for now :)**

 **Please enjoy. And again, I'm sorry .**

* * *

Maybe it was because he was secretly a very sentimental person inside. Maybe it was because mystery books were his favorite genre. Maybe it was because he missed her. Maybe it was all of those things, but Rogue Cheney now carried a crumpled sticky note in his pocket wherever he went.

Lucy still hadn't come by for a couple weeks after that brief (and to Lucy, unknown,) sighting, but Rogue still held onto the note. And honestly...

he felt pretty fucking creepy about it.

...But that feeling couldn't overpower the need he felt to hold onto it, so he continued in his creepy-ass habit. In the time of her absence, he's slowly forgotten how she was. The faint details in both her appearance and her way of being were fading from his memory, and, frankly, it scared him. It's not like he was torn up over her disappearance, nor was she on his mind constantly. But she _did_ begin to worm her merry way into his heart (god, it sounded corny like that), and he _did_ miss her.

So he kept the note around. To him, it proves against his fading memory that she existed.

...although his need to justify it made him feel even creepier.

Rogue shuddered under his umbrella, both from his brutal self-evaluation and from the biting rain. He and Orga were making their way home from a late-night chem lab, and Rogue hadn't prepared for the storm (that he _knew_ was coming) aside from the presence of his old, time-beaten umbrella that he fished out of his hellish storage closet the night before.

Orga, on the other hand, was looking mighty comfortable. He was a bear of a man who was also covered adequately for both the wind and rain. When they had first left the lab, Orga offered to let Rogue use his raincoat which Rogue had refused, saying that it really was his fault that he hadn't been prepared for the storm in the first place. The minute they left shelter he regretted that decision.

"FUCK!" He screamed uncharacteristically, half due to the thoughts swirling in his head and half due to the feeling of pure STORM that had worked its way deep into his bones. He wrapped his arms, donned in a much too thin coat, tightly around his body as he trudged on against the vile wild.

Orga's booming laughter resounded around them. _God of lightning_ was a fitting title. He looked right at home in the storm. Orga set a heavy hand onto Rogue's shoulder and pushed him on.

"We're almost at your place. I see it up ahead. Red brick, right?" Orga yelled over the wind. Rogue narrowly dodged what looked like a squirrel as it blew past him on the wind, then he focused his eyes ahead. Rogue smiled, seeing the familiar apartment complex not 100 feet away.

"Yes!"

* * *

" _Shit_." Rogue spat under his breath as he walked into the lobby of his building. He'd never experienced a storm quite like that. He tore off his gloves and kicked off his boots, smacking both on the rug in front of the glass double doors to try (hopelessly) to get the water off of them. After about fifteen seconds, he growled lowly at his lack of progress.

"Wow, you really hate the cold 'n' rain, huh?"

Rogue forgot about Orga. How rude of him. He chastised himself before turning to the taller man.

"Yeah, sorry," He said quietly, his earlier anger at the storm ebbing away in favor of embarrassment. Orga smiled as he took off his raincoat and jacket. He ground his boots on the rug as he replied, "Don't worry. That was rough out there. I don't blame you." Rogue's face remained neutral, but his gratitude shone in his eyes. Orga caught it easily, to Rogue's great pleasure.

"Bring your things, I'll show you up," Rogue said quietly as he gathered his garments he had shed. He sent a nod in greeting to the front desk manager and ascended a flight of stairs to his second floor apartment.

"This is a pretty nice place for a college student, isn't it?" Orga said, looking around as they walked.

"I transferred here from another place. I had high marks there so I was brought here on a scholarship. Classes are cheap for me, so I can afford a nicer place."

Orga nodded that he heard Rogue as Rogue unlocked the door to his apartment. He curled his arm around the door frame and flicked on the lights, depositing his keys onto a key rack right inside his door as he did so. The lights lit up to reveal a head of blonde hair. Not the good kind though, mind you.

"Sting."

"Oii It's Rogue!" Sting chirped from his spot on Rogue's couch. Sting flashed him a grin and a wave, only to be rewarded with Rogue's boot in his face.

"Hey what the fuck, Rogue! Aren't you glad to see me?!" Sting yelled, nursing his face.

"Not really," came Rogue's blunt reply as he showed Orga were to put his things. As Orga derobed, Rogue crossed the room into his kitchen.

"Orga, this is Sting Eucliffe. Sting, Orga Nanagear." Rogue said as he assembled himself a pot of coffee. (as he was always and ever the addict)

"Hey."

"Yo. Hey Rogue, where'd you find this hunk of man?" Sting called into the kitchen, never letting his eyes fall off of Orga.

"Sorry, straight as a nail," Orga chuckled with a wave of his hands as he settled himself in a kitchen chair. ("You want any?" / "Sure. Cream, no sugar, please.")

Sting purred, "Better watch your choice of words." He winked. Rogue's eye roll could be felt through the whole room.

"You're _taken_ , Sting. Yukino, remember?" Rogue sighed as he handed Sting his usual hot chocolate. Rogue crossed over to Orga, handing him his coffee before collapsing in the chair next to him.

"Oh yes, my darling!" Sting swooned, his thoughts taken completely off of the god of lightning. "Speaking of which! She's comin to visit in a couple weeks, once her residency period's up. She gets a break period before the new semester begins. Shit! Speaking of Yukino, I told her I'd call her before she went to bed! Sorry Rogue!" Sting called as he jumped off the couch and ran out the door to his apartment across the hall, leaving a shell-shocked Rogue behind.

Orga whistled. "He's pretty _out there_ , ain't he?" He said, swirling his pointer finger in an imaginary spiral. Rogue wilted in his chair and sipped his coffee languidly.

"Yep." Rogue said with a pop. He sighed.

* * *

Orga took a cab home early the next morning. He had a class at nine while Rogue had the day off. ("Thank God for that, because if he didn't, Rogue was sure to kill a bitch" Sting would say.)

After sending Orga off from the lobby, Rogue was fully ready to retreat back into his lair to waste the day away in front of his fireplace with his laptop and a pot of coffee. That is, until he sees a familiar figure clad in a black top, white sorts, and brown boots standing in front of his building.

"Lucy!" He can't keep himself from yelling it as he shoves oven the glass double doors and rushes out to her. He wears a smile on his face at the sight of the enigmatic blonde until he nears closer. Rogue just barely has time to register her soaking wet form and flickering eyes before shes falling unconscious into his arms.

* * *

 **The next chapter is almost done. Sorry that this one is short, Im getting into the flow again.**


	4. Glitter

After finding Lucy in the rain, Rogue had helped her up to his apartment so she could warm up and dry off. During this time, an uncomfortable silence had fallen over the two.

And it was slowly killing him.

Aside from a mumbled "Don't trip over the rug." and "I'll get you a towel.", no words were exchanged between the two, even though they hadn't actually spoken for over a month and Rogue was burning with the need to say _anything_ to break the silence. He swallowed that need and sighed, looking over at the blonde he'd left on his couch.

Lucy sat quietly, eyes staring blankly into the dead fireplace. Rogue's brow furrowed as an involuntary shiver passed through her body as she toyed with the tips of her wet hair. Rogue had handed her a bath towel earlier, but it lay untouched beside her on the couch. He watched her silently, a mix of emotions flitting over his eyes. A spark of happiness was there, because he hadn't seen her for awhile and he did miss her cheerful, albeit sporadic, presence, but that warm little flame was extinguished by the heavy rain of plain _awkward_ that blanketed them.

Sighing, Rogue worked his way over to his shitshow of a closet to find the heated blanket he'd stored away at some point. Lucy's body had felt freezing cold against his as he eased her up the stairs earlier, and he'd used the last of his firewood up the night before when Orga came over.

Upon opening said room, he groaned inwardly, there was no way he'd find it in there, he was sure of it. Piles upon piles of boxes (likely filled with random, absolute _garbage_ ) sat surrounded by loose objects. He had forgotten how bad it was, even though the last time he'd been in there had only been a few das prior.

But, ever the tenacious one, Rogue dived in.

After about ten minutes of sifting through boxes and Tupperware and laundry-bins of crap, Rogue's gaze found a spacebag labeled 'blankets' sitting on a high shelf. His eyes narrowed on his target and, against his better judgement, Rogue began climbing boxes to reach it. Higher and higher he climbed ( _"Why the fuck are there shelves against the ceiling?"_ ) until he felt the tips of the blue plastic bag.

"Ah." He said, successfully grabbing the bag, but also successfully falling off of his box ladder he was kneeling on.

The spacebag fell, bringing down a tower of cardboard boxes filled with pool floaties, Christmas decorations, and glitter. _So that's where Sting got it from_ , Rogue thought absently as the thing-avalanche came crashing down on him.

* * *

Rogue groaned aloud as he rubbed his ass, which was sore from impact. A quick glance in the spacebag revealed his heated blanket though, and Rogue quickly forgot about his butt-pain. He smiled softly to himself.

Then he heard it. His head snapped behind him. Lucy was giggling, no, _laughing_ at his blunder, and all the tenseness and discomfort in the atmosphere melted away at the sound of it.

"Rogue," _And if he didn't like the sound of his name on her lips,_ "you have a little somethin'... everywhere"

She waved a hand across the whole of her body, that laugh still spilling out of her.

Rogue looked down. From his pant legs to his fingertips to, likely, his head, he was covered in shimmery, shiny _glitter_. He glanced around, it was absolutely everywhere.

"Agh, fuck," he groaned under his breath.

Lucy roared with laughter.

* * *

"How was your shower?" Lucy asked, her face partially hidden underneath the expanse of the heated blanket.

"Oh just wonderful," Rogue drawled sarcastically, hitting his palm against the side of his head, "I think there's still glitter in my ears." His face went deadpan.

Lucy couldn't help giggling at him once more. Rogue didn't mind it too much. He cracked a small smile and sat down to the side of her and rubbed his hair a bit with the forest-green bath towel draped around his neck. He heard a yawn from beside him.

"Tired?"

"Just a bit."

 _Well I sure as hell would be, if I were you,_ Rogue thought, his thoughts travelling back to the state he found her in. He fell silent, face tightening in thought.

"-Lucy-," Rogue started, then snapped his mouth shut. He closed his eyes and carefully deliberated what to say, a flurry of emotions flickering across his face.

On one hand, he was incredibly curious as to why she suddenly disappeared from his life.

Although they weren't incredibly close, he had felt a sort of comfort between them that had formed over time; it was a sense of familiarity that was created over their numerous strange encounters. There was this automatic, peaceful quality to their interactions that had startled Rogue, since he really wasn't a people person, let alone a _female_ people person, and it normally took _weeks_ of fairly continuous interaction for Rogue to become that comfortable with someone, as it did with Sting and Orga. So when this random girl literally fell into his life (from his wardrobe, like a fucking science fiction plotpiece, no less) and reached that level of intimacy with him in such a short time, it left an impact.

Then she disappeared. There sipping (his) coffee one minute, gone into thin air the next. And he had not been ready for it. He wasn't sure what he'd done to deserve that, and was more than mildly miffed at the memory of it.

But on the other hand, that comforting quality of their interactions had come back so quickly, so naturally, and he quickly realized how much he didn't want to ruin it.

When it wasn't there at first, it felt suffocating, terrifying, slightly. The feeling he felt... it was as though she was a complete stranger he'd committed some terrible crime by (although he had to admit, he really didn't know anything about the other, so they weren't much more than strangers anyway). It was like anything he said would blow up in his face and he'd be left with nothing again.

 _Wow. **Nothing** , Rogue...really? Does she really mean that much to you anyways? _He heard a little voice in his head say. He honestly didn't know the answer to that.

Honestly, all he really knew was that he didn't want to lose that quality to their interactions again. He breathed deeply, settling on a healthy medium.

Rogue opened his eyes. Determined red met pleading brown. The lights flickered. Lucy was begging, begging Rogue not to pry. To _let it be._

And he did, in a way.

"I won't ask why you were gone for so long."

 _I won't hurt you._

"But, in return," he began, taking a deep breath.

"In return... when you're tired of doing whatever.. _space pirates_ (he drops to a whisper, because Rogue feels silly saying it) do... could you find it within yourself to - oh _ **god** _ \- to... return here... sometimes?"

Rogue's hand is covering his mouth at this point, and his eyes have settled on a stack of sticky notes on his desk. He was sure his cheeks sported a color not much different from his eyes at this point, because _dear lord_ that sounded stupid. It sounded like a confession, and a barely coherent one at that. He regrets his wording immediately.

"Actually you don't hav-"

"I'm sorry, Rogue," Lucy interrupts, smiling. "I won't leave like that again."

Rogue smiled gently in return, his eyes shining with silent thanks that she had understood what he really wanted to say.

* * *

 **It turned out short again. Im sorry O.O I kept writing and rewriting this. Still not completely satisfied with it but I hope someone is. Rogue is kinda OOC in this one.**


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